Somewhere Under The Trees
by BlueDiamondStar
Summary: He's all alone now. Nothing but trees surrounding. Neal happens to get into trouble. This time there's no Peter to come and save him. But eventually he will. And that's not all... there's upcoming storm. What they don't know for sure is whether Neal's ran.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Somewhere Under The Trees

**Crossover** Fandom: N

**Characters/Pairings:** Peter B./Neal C./other team members

**Rating:** T

**Word Count:** 10k+

**Spoilers:** from all past seasons

**Warnings:** mentions of blood and injury, might be slightly graphic. nothing too much

**Summary:** _He's all alone now. Nothing but trees surrounding._  
_Neal happens to get into trouble. This time there's no Peter to come and save him._  
_But eventually he will. And that's not all... there's upcoming storm._  
_What they don't know for sure is whether Neal's ran._

**Disclaimer:** I don't own White Collar, Jeff does. So I just borrow to play and put back later.

**Author's Note: **So this my very first Big Bang project I've taken part and pulled it off to this point.  
I gotta say thanks to my dream I had a long time ago that was basically what encouraged me to try to write it down and post it. Originally it's for another fandom and was much longer and I've put it down on paper to finish one day...  
For this particular story I took only the part with which it started and converted the original idea to this fandom.  
I have to say thanks to all who wished me luck with this and I hope y'all like my story..  
On a side note, I typed this all up on my phone and completely by myself. It's **unbetaed** so if there really are any glaringly evil mistakes either bear with me or point out. I technically was pretty bleary eyed from 4am to 8am on saturday when I got my friend's pc all to myself and did major organization on this.  
And pardon if language has slipped, I'm from non-english country so don't mind...  
Enjoy! :)

**Art:**


	2. Chapter 2

He ran like a mad man through all the woods. It was quite hard to keep on track, but somehow he managed to jolt through all the bushes. It was pretty painful and he was barely breathing, if at all.

Finally he reached civilization. There was a street. Luckily it was so early in the morning. He'd go unnoticed. Maybe not.

He nearly tripped over on his way out of the last treeline.

Moments later he was in front of the underground tunnel. But eventually there was something he didn't notice at first.

Stairs.

And it was way too late to slow down. He lost his footing over few steps and tripped over few other. Then it went downwards... He painfully rolled over, hitting the hard surface. After seconds he landed abruptly. Everything was spinning and his vision started to black out. But there was no time. He managed to scramble up and kept his run. Ib a flash he was over the street and closer to the bridge. Suddenly he straight-forwarded through another treeline on the right.

Half mile through vast line of trees there was a steep decline. It didn't seem too long or downwards, but then again, he was in great hurry and there was only little time for thinking or taking in the situation.

And much like any other time he let the things flow and dropped down the decline.

The sudden feel of flying, the stomach-tingling and limbs-tickling sensation of loosing footing was overwhelming for a moment or two. But quite too fast it came to abrupt stop. And pretty much with that it all went black...


	3. Chapter 3

It's pretty much overwhelming experience to wake up somewhere dark and hard-surfaced. And it was also pretty painful and frightening, too. And for once the great Neal Caffrey was left powerless.

Neal tried to make sense at first. The darkness was as discerning as it could, coupled with considerable amount of pain and general confusion.

He had no idea why he was lying on that hard, cold ground in absolute darkness, nor he could imagine why his body hurt so much. It would be explainable only by a heist gone bad or some other shenanigan running wildly off the planned track.

It took him quite a while to remember the cold ground wasn't a good thing and he ought to move in order to avoid catching cold, and that hardness of it either didn't mean good things.

So the young man tried to make his first move towards what he guessed should be painful but much needed to prevent more trouble than there were.

Of course, he didn't expect that the seemingly easy task would require more effort than that he hoped for.

And it most definitely didn't sit well with his current situation.

However, he had to try and move. Who knew where he was and if the backup was anywhere near, most likely not, he guessed. It usually wasn't and Neal was no stranger to that.

So he tried to move. His fingers first, then toes. It went well, as he hoped for. Nothing seemed hurting too much, albeit he wasn't sure if both sets of toes and fingers actually moved or it was just his imagination.

So he kept wiggling all his fingers and only after while something else registered in his somewhat sluggy mind- he was face-down on that hard and cold ground. Neal's cheek was brushing the solid surface and it made him only wonder harder about events that had eventually led to this strange outcome. He really could not get smarter, not in that moment.

After what felt like ten minutes, but in fact could be either much more or bit less the young con had come to conclusion - he was more injured than he had thought and possibly in lot more trouble than he anticipated. But it wasn't the worst realization. He also noticed the sounds. Ones that usually signalled it was nighttime in woods...

How on earth he had gotten from Manhattan to woods? How come he even wasn't in his room at June's? And where was Peter?

Only after that brief moment of panic Neal realized another tiny stumble in the very picture.

He was most definitely lacking his anklet.

Why? That he couldn't imagine. At least not that very moment.

So, putting off for moment his wonderings, Neal kept on with assessing his current condition.

His left ankle seemed bit more painful, so he assumed it had to sustain some sort of injury. But everything thing above felt fine. Until he managed to wiggle his left knee, and that spiked more pain. So that too must be injured somehow, decided the con.

Next he tried to move his other leg, and, while it seemed harder task, it notified Neal his right leg should be better condition than left. And boy, it was a considerable relief.

Then he moved on to his midsection. It proved to be much hared exercise. apparently being flat on his front showed some disadvantage when it came to moving about. And it made obvious that trying for deep breaths was quite a moot point.

He was stuck in this uncomfortable position until he would figure out how to move into more comfortable one.

After such discoveries Neal decided to take a little break from assessing his injuries. It was getting too exhausting and he knew it did no good to let himself tire out. After all he had no idea what had happened nor where he was, and even why. Already a clear sign of head injury, if the pain wasn't enough of an indicator.

After a moment Neal's dark clad head shot up. Although it seemed just a moment, a short moment at that, it could actually be much longer period of time. He really couldn't tell. He'd lost all the sense of time he had. It sucked but there really was nothing to help with it.

With a sigh he made the call... Next round of self check. He didn't feel rested so there was no way to tell if he'd gotten to sleep or not.

So he just started to wiggle his fingers. They felt fine, much like his wrists. And it felt same with middle part of his arms too. Well, until he made his left elbow move and got welcomed with sharp pain. Okay, he wasn't fine there, was yet another wise thought surfacing from the depths of his tangled mind.

But oh how he hoped it was just a bruise.

Then came more information. Above, the elbow and his shoulder, appeared free of pain, thankfully. He wouldn't appreciate more pain there too, leg was already enough.

So left neck and head.

The ex-con wasn't quite sure he wanted to do the rest of inspection. But he had to.

So he tried, and truly tried, to assess whether his neck was fine or not with extra caution. It was known fact that if you injured your neck better not to cause unnecessary injury or aggravate existing by making moves. So he did it as much careful as he could manage this way. Lying flat on ground truly made everything just more uncomfortable and inconvenient than usually. And he hated that.

But there was nothing else to do than just get over with and move on to other things.

Luckily his neck seemed intact and only somewhat stiff, that he really hard hoped to be just muscles protesting against the position he was lying.

So it left his head. But Neal had no idea how to get his arms move more than they already was. It was getting too frustrating of a task. But he had to do it. No other way. He had to know how bad he was before planning his next move.

But it felt like self torture. One he has to get done. And preferably before something even worse happened to him.

So with a huge effort Neal managed to toggle his right arm so it could bend and easily touch his head.

Since it was absolute darkness, and he did check that it was equally dark both-with eyes open and closed, he would have to suffice only with his sense of touch. It should work, it was indeed dry so shouldn't confuse any of his deductions.

**_Lost in the darkness  
Tried to find your way home  
I want to embrace you  
And never let you go_**

He managed to move his hand over the back of his head. It felt fine, at least nothing seemed out of shape nor felt wet, which was a good thing, considering the situation.

Though when Neal's trembling fingers skimmed over the left side of his head he felt it. Blinding white ache shot through his brain, paralyzing him for a moment, while the immediate pain dissipated. It took some time, though. Riding out a wave of pain while already being in considerable amount of pain wasn't a good feeling. And the reformed con artist had some former experience with pain, not all his alleged heists had gone hitchless. But he wasn't about to tell that to Peter and burst that bubble of mystery. He was, after all, the Great Neal Caffrey, man with many skills and amazing smoothness.

Yeah, like it was helping him now.

So for once he was sure, he had injured leg, elbow and head. All left side.

Now he wasn't sure what to do with this information. It was clear he needed to try and move, if not for injuries sake then at least to get more comfortable position, one that didn't make it feel like he was lying squeezed between rocks.

But moving seemed too much of an effort. However, it was must-do for the moment. Now he just had to gather all that shiny bubble of energy, he was known to be, and pull himself into somewhat less pressuring position.

Easier thought thatn done, Neal grimaced, though no one could see that, and pouted at the odds that seemed not to be in his favor this time, and pulled himself upwards with terrifyingly inhuman growl.

Short was the moment of victory, when he'd felt himself getting upright. Because next thing he registered was the feeling of floating and he was seeing something.

A vague shapes and sounds and something else, distinct but there.

Neal Caffrey had passed out without himself really realizing it. The dark had been too disorienting to tell.

Another reason for Neal to start disliking darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

The darkness was too warm and pleasant for him to want to wake up but something was poking at him through the levels of unconsciousness, bringing him back to the land of awareness. He tried to make it longer but unfortunately it was too late to slip back. Something was pulling him out of the darkness and this something was seriously getting on Neal's nerves.

So the young man had no other option than to resurface from the dreamland.

And as much to his surprise Neal found bright light stabbing at his eyes through the closed lids.

"What...?" Neal whispered to no one in particular. With a frown he slowly opened his eyes, despite it being painful.

Somehow during the sleep he had turned around and now was facing the too-happy sun, beating down on him with fierce, torturing rays. He tried not to be mad at it, sun was zillion miles away into space, it wasn't it's fault he was facing it while suffering from possible head injury. So it was just a piece of bad luck.

Well, a pretty huge piece.

So, after some time squinting at the too bright light, Neal's still dazed brain finally sent signal it was enough already, too long staring at sun wasn't considered healthy, so it was about time to look at something else and figure out how to solve the current situation.

One thing was clear- it was broad daylight, clear sky, no wind. So it meant trouble, that much Neal knew. He was already feeling his stomach unpleasantly empty. And he had no idea if he had eaten anything before... before something happened that made him end up in a place like this.

And wait up, his brain was sluggishly trying to piece this together now.

With a painful gasp Neal realized that he was, indeed, in the woods, as his eyes slid around to take in the scenery and some dots connected.

Woods. Hot days, warm nights. Animals. Insects. Danger.

Neal shivered even thinking about it. He didn't like it. He was a city boy after all. He wasn't supposed to roam any other jungle than the New York streets. He had to get away as soon as possible, preferably right at this moment.

But of course, it didn't happen.

The ex-con could only hope someone, preferably Peter will find him. Before bears came to eat him.

But he could only wish. In reality things weren't that hopeful at all. He was still injured. And still too weak to get up and about.

But he needed water, that much he had learned very early and it wasn't anything he wanted to repeat anytime. Apparently he still had not much of an option. He was alone.

And then his brain caught up. He WAS alone... or at least that was how it looked. Speaking of which.. Neal suddenly realized there was a rather large cliff beside him.

And it pretty much suggested a scenario he wasn't ready to accept, because even thinking about it made him nauseated, if he already wasn't. But the thought that he could be fallen from the cliff was rather unsettling and uncomfortably possible.

And Neal wasn't a fan of that possibility. It looked too high and, despite all his past adventures, he wasn't sure it was real even for him.

Moments later, when he managed to make himself turn away from cliff, he decided to check himself in the offered daylight.

The sight made him cringe.

His jeans (he noticed with wide eyes he wasn't dressed in a suit, like always) were all dirty and in ruins. They looked stylishly cut, he recalled, but now he knew he'll be throwing them out for good.

The next thing that came to sight (albeit bit blurry) was his left ankle. It was considerably swollen, so injured despite Neal's hopes, but what really caught his attention was the anklet. To the man's surprise it was still somehow attached. But it stood somewhat differently than usually. And then it hit (with quite a delay)- he had asked Peter to let it looser for one day. Not enough to slip off the foot, but loose enough to make it slide up and down. But at this moment of realization Neal couldn't recall why exactly he would be asking such thing.

But it had helped. Now in the bright sunlight he could see the real extent of the injury. And it made him wince.

The plastic device was thankfully out of the way for majority of swelling. And it wasn't ankle as he had thought while in the dark. In fact, it was actually his foot that was either broken or sprained (he really tried not to try think of it in details). The ankle monitor, or what was left of it, was well above his ankle, enough so it wouldn't immediately pressure the injury therefore causing terrible pain and more discomfort than he already had. Neal sighed in relief.

So now he just had to figure out his next move. Now that he knew his only connection with what he still believed was reality was still attached to his ankle like for the past couple years. For some or other reason it made Neal attached. To reality. To Peter. His life in New York. Future.

Strange it was, how such an offending piece of plastic could affect someone who wasn't one to get attached to anything.

Maybe he was changed more than he ever expected from himself. After all he was a con man. Convicted felon. A criminal. He got caught and leashed. Then why it felt so good now? When it felt like something very bad in the beginning when his deal was only a mean to find Kate. Back then it seemed simple. No attachments. No feelings. Nothing. Just calculated con to get free and then disappear when everything's done.

Then why now he felt like this was his savior? Why it made him feel so secure? So connected?

Neal couldn't provide any better answer than one he had told Peter few times before.

And there probably wasn't any better.

Neal finally had something good in his life to hang to. And he had been so close to loose it. On the island.

He was so scared when Collins aimed the gun at him. It wasn't the bullet that hurt. It was the fear and) sadness of loosing something he held dear and that promised something good for his future.

He had hoped to be free man. Deep down Neal had been hopeful about the outcome of his hearing.

But it ended up with him on the run and later with a bullet in his leg and anger towards Kramer. But he had felt extreme relief and joy when Peter had draped his arms around his shoulders in a tight, loving hug. It was the moment when he had fought tears.

Even remembering made his eyes feel watery, and it had nothing to do with pain from his injuries.

Since when he'd become so emotional Neal couldn't tell, but the young man knew Peter will come and save him. That's what he relied upon.

After the moment of memories Neal made effort to return to reality. For his unguarded surprise it had taken quite a while. At least according to his watch.

Well, he'd lost time before too.

But suddenly Neal's mind refused to switch back to reality. He knew the whole situation had to be addressed immediately since he still needed to assess his injuries while it was daylight. But obviously his jumbled brain couldn't make all the right connections. So now his mind kept wandering around some old memories and random thoughts.

For some strange reason the young man was missing Peter's car. He always was messing with the radio and Peter kept smacking at his hands like Neal was some annoying child up to some mischief. But he had no idea why he kept doing that. Just like he didn't know why he always run from things.

"Oh, stop it Caffrey, you're pathetic fool right now." Neal told himself, uncharacteristically.

Okay, he was now talking to himself. Not even prison could do that, he shook his head immediately regretting the movement as it caused pain shooting through his brain. His vision blurred and dark spots started to swim before his eyes. Not a good thing, he managed to realize before darkness engulfed the injured man.


	5. Chapter 5

At first he couldn't tell what was going on. It was cold and wet. Something was touching his face and he felt ticklish. Not yet dark but already not quite easy to see.

And he was frightened. His heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. And it hurt. Everything was spinning and some weird noises were making their way through the haze.

He wanted to run and never look back, but he couldn't. World had turned all grey and suddenly he was somewhere else...

He was back on that island. Back in the cage with Collins aiming his gun at Neal and shooting him in leg.

"No!"

He woke with a start. Breathing fast and hard.

Was it a dream? He asked himself. But of course, what else?

Looking around he still saw the same forrest. Trees and bushes, grass and same squirrels that were there before.

Nothing had changed. And won't if he didn't start doing anything about it.

But what?

It was actually a late afternoon, so what had been he saw probably counted as a nightmare. Not that he was loosing it already.

So it was time to get moving, Neal decided.

With that he took another look at his ankle. It still looked bad. Swollen and blue.

Not a pretty sight, but he's seen worse.

The anklet still were relatively loose so no imminent danger from it.

He then looked at his knee. Thankfully his jeans were already cut open so he could peek at it without fuss.

The knee too was swollen, but not that badly. So it meant it most likely was just a bad bruise.

Neal heaved a relieved sigh.

So at least he'll have only ankle as the major trouble.

He glanced at his left arm. Seeing his bluishly swollen elbow made his already queasy stomach churn.

Ok, well, maybe after his past injuries he should've been more accustomed to these sights. But in reality he felt like tossing proverbial cookies. Which Neal, hesitantly, did.

After composing himself once more the young man heaved another, heart-wrenching sigh and dared another hesitant look.

This time he managed to look all the way. Even his brain clicked back and produced the clear analysis of the condition his elbow could be. Most likely it was bad sprain. At least according to what he had learned about such things from when he had dislocated his arm (very same) for a heist. It hadn't been nice two hours being stuck in a ventilation shaft, but it brought them (him and Mozzie) enough money to survive for time that took Neal to recover from his shoulder injury.

Thankfully his shoulder seemed fine this time.

By the time he was about to start trying to assess his head injury and address possible rib fractures, or less horrific bruises, the sun had considerably sunken. The woods around weren't as dark but he could see the dark looming from between the trees further away.

There actually was a tree near him, as it turned out, but he was still underneath the wide opening in the trees surrounding and above was only clear sky. However, and he hoped rather not, in case of a rain he had enough of lower bushes and that same tree bit away. So at least that was clear.

But it also turned out this assessment had taken time enough to let sun nearly disappear completely, turning everything in a soft glow and dimming down the general illumination.

Neal gingerly touched his face with his good hand. It came away dirty and Neal winced. He now imagined his face covered in dirt. He needed water. And fast.

Not only for the clean up, he suddenly felt terribly thirsty and the occasional growl from his stomach made it clear he was still in danger.

And so he took a deep breath and slid his fingers where he'd felt the blinding pain previously. This time it hurt less where his head sported a rather uncomfortable gash that, according to Neal's wavering judgment, was indeed deep and still slightly wet, but it didn't seem bleeding too much or otherwise than a bit wetness. And he could feel couple bumps near the gash. And after some more touching around Neal discovered there should be quite a shiner on his cheek and along jaw. So it had been a fall from that cliff- Neal's brain did the math before wandering back to twilight zone. He wanted so badly just to run around screaming and smashing things, instead all he could afford was lie there stiffly and growl like a bear. Speaking of which... he hoped weren't there to eat him.

As he lay there, there was sudden moisture trickling down his cheeks. At first he wasn't sure what that was, but then his uninjured hand trailed his fingers over his cheek.

Tears.

He had tears rolling down his cheeks.

Neal couldn't believe. He never cried. Another surprise.

He was lately surprising himself. At least compared to how he was years ago, before prison, before Peter.

Back then he was just a kid. Someone who believed the score of life and island of paradise. He was changed. A lot. Since Kate.

Since he met Peter.

He sniffled. And grimaced.

Who was he? Was he now something he'd always feared to become because he always wanted to be that carefree con man who could do unimaginable things and never get caught?

Probably. Well, yes.

He always believed himself to be that way all his life.

But that was before Kate. Before Adler.

God! How naïve he'd been.

He'd been such a fool. Moz was right, happily ever after truly doesn't exist.

But what does?

He had no answers, just silly questions without answers. Without hope to be answered.

He was changed. Who was he?

Was he still at least a bit of that man he used to be? The hopeful opportunist who arrived in New York? God, he so hoped he was. Because that meant he wasn't completely lost. That there still was a sliver of his old self. Somewhere. Deep down.

He frowned as the spike of pain made its way through his skull as it was a drill. Was that how a sidewalk felt when the asphalt got ripped off it by the huge, mean machine with a noise so angry? He assumed it had to be.

Suddenly he felt terribly tired. Despite all the noises the forest offered. The wave of exhaustion took over and Neal let the darkness drown all the world around.


	6. Chapter 6

It was the weekend. But definitely didn't feel like that. He was camped out in living room with all the possible files about his MIA partner.

It was actually funny how Marshals' monitoring system had noticed his consultant's disappearance only on Sunday, late afternoon. So by later that night Peter was sitting there, on his couch, armored with all the necessary paperwork and studied New York's map.

Once again his eyes swept over the jagged line of Neal's tracker data. It seemed weird and his gut told him clearly Neal hadn't run. Well, he had, for quite a while, but not like that. And it left him worried.

Neal had been behaving, wasn't causing trouble. They were having dinner together. But nothing, as far as he could tell, had seemed different.

So nothing suggested Neal had angered someone and they had gone for revenge. But then what?

He rubbed his eyes and cast a glance at clock. Two in the morning. Approximately same time Neal had left June's.

At first slowly, like walking. All the way to the park. Than for half an hour no movement. Peter decided Neal had been sitting down and having some thoughtful moment like he did sometimes, or maybe he was sketching. After that things started to look weird.

The line started to appear in half loops. And moving deeper into the park. And there Peter started to get his vibes about the possible fate of the younger man.

And after a while, he checked timeline, Neal was sprinting chaotically around park before dashing off the grid. The signal had wavered and then stopped transmitting. Until it popped back on, three hours later and occasionally flickering, outside New York. In the woods.

And that was what most definitely alarmed the agent. Neal of all the people definitely wouldn't choose woods for his runaway point. In all the time he'd spent chasing the kid Neal had been tediously avoiding anything that wasn't fancy hotel, exclusive restaurant, upper class party, cities with art museums and whatever else that offered comfort.

Neal wasn't running, no, he was, but not from the FBI, not from Peter, not from his life here. No, not again.

He was running from something else. From danger.

Suddenly there was a bleep and flickering dot appeared on the tracker map. It was still transmitting. Barely. But at least it gave start.

Although, they couldn't be sure the anklet was still attached to Neal. No, it had to. Peter shook his head, he will not believe it, tracker's still on Neal, the kid hadn't left it.

His friend was in danger and he needed help, he wouldn't leave anklet.

That was what Peter stuck to when he called his boss and his team. He was the Caffrey expert, he knew better.

**~~~~~~~~~wc~~~~~~~~~**

It was pain that first registered. His head was hurting so bad it seemed as if he had dumped it into a bowl of hot coals... or maybe just drunk his whole wine collection in one evening. At least that was how it felt now. But Neal was fairly sure he hadn't drunk anything. Or was it just an illusion?

It sort of cleared when he tried to lift his upper body from lying position. The pain shooting throughout his chest and torso overall seemed unlike any possible hangover should feel like. Not that he'd ever drunk that much to be absolutely sure it couldn't happen.

So he kept lying flat on the ground, not moving, and waiting for pain to lessen. His eyes were squeezed tight shut.

He had no idea how much time passed before he could take a controlled breath and open his eyes, Neal assumed it had taken quite some time. He took a tentative glance around. Still the same woods,his brain finally had kicked in and provided missing information on why he had such a killer headache.

So it wasn't a dream, he decided.

Unfortunately it didn't solve his persisting problem.

He still had the same problem, and same obstacles. Any other time there'd be a solution, someone near to ask for help (if his pride would allow such fancy), but this time the great Neal Caffrey was on his own.

Once again glaring at the cliff, he realized that maybe he should start moving, and possibly try to get to the other side of that sodded thing. He just sensed there had to be something on the other side. If he'd came from that way, it might mean there was a road or something. Maybe even city of some sort. A vague feeling of definite solution hiding behind the huge mass of fairly solid rock, soil and whatnot usually covered the grounds of the woods made Neal to stick to his newly baked plan. Well, as much as one could call it a plan.

But as much as he wanted he couldn't run anywhere, not in his condition. And his brain just knew how to revenge for making it work hard in the thinking area by sloshing around Neal's skull with newfound energy and twice as more pain. It hurt badly, and just the head.

His whole body throbbed fiercely on top of agonizing waves of spasms from most injured parts.

But what ached the most was the feeling of being alone. Of course, Neal's been alone for the great part of his life so it shouldn't matter. But it did. Greatly.

And especially when lost in the woods and injured. Even in his con life things like this happened rarely if at all. Maybe because he was either too young and excited about his new world or there was Mozzie who kept him on his toes and poked repeatedly if he became too emotional.

Well, despite his surroundings Neal wouldn't say no to company, even if that warranted endless lectures about government weapons on mind control and equally nonsense. That would be at least something to hold on to and definitely help distract him from thinking, which in this stage was getting not only more painful but also made things start go all whoozy and made him start blank out uncomfortably.

Who'd thought a concussion could be this annoying.

He of course knew it. Not really the first time to bang his head up of bump into something wrongly.

There had been heists not-too-smooth. Those he never mentioned again.

Because the great Neal Caffrey was never clumsy or made mistakes, because Neal Caffrey was always graceful and had everything planned to perfection and even if something unexpected happened he always was quick thinker of solutions for emergencies. At that's what the con man had always made sure everyone would hear and know.

He made sure nobody heard of Liechtenstein, or about Copenhagen. He never ever again mentioned about the other Spain incident and always made sure to look mildly uninterested when the topic came up again, because this was just too ungraceful thing to even remember, let alone allowing whole FBI to find out it was him indeed to be the one to cause some shameful mess in a museum. No, Neal Caffrey couldn't allow anyone hear about that other side, the one some people tend to video-tape and gloat when some funniest video tv show aired them in national television for whole country to see and laugh themselves dumb. No, he was too ashamed to even revisit in his own mind let alone any other living and breathing human being.

Neal was proud of his self-created and well maintained image.

Nobody needed to hear about passing out in a ventilation shaft and waking up with paint stained cheek few hours later. Or about that totally unflattering splash in mud while scaling some museum wall with stolen sculpture tied to his side which later sported a very embarrassing black bruise and cracked ribs. And most definitely he will never ever let the word out about that mishap in that art gallery, he was still happy the guard slipped on the floor instead of shooting him because then it'd be completely different story now, when he is just relieved to have it the way it happened albeit not the perfect one it did happen.

So Neal would never talk about all those things. Because he had to maintain that impeccable con man attire he'd created. And he would never want to experience Peter's reaction to all that. No, it would completely ruin whatever opinion the agent had about his CI, and it'd add the completely unnecessary laughing fits from all over the bullpen if it ever came out. He wouldn't be able to live with those giggles whenever he passed any of the other agents.

No, this would definitely ruin his appearance and make him into one of those americans who were displaying their clumsiness on tv. That really wasn't him- the suave con man extraordinaire, art thief internationale.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Almost hope you're in heaven  
So no one can hurt your soul  
Living in agony  
Cause I just do not know  
Where you are**_

It didn't took long for his team to gather and start overviewing Neal's tracker data.

Convincing Marshals and Hughes was entirely different story. But his boss trusted Peter's gut and eventually caved in. Besides it wasn't that hard, Reese Hughes secretly liked Neal. He admired the kid's ability to solve the cases and he really loved how it improved the bureau in the eyes of his superiors. Neal had increased their rating amongst all the other FBI units and especially among the other white collar crime offices.

It made everything look good and promised good things for the bureau.

But what was happening now turned everything around and left too many question marks.

But Hughes wasn't fool, he saw his own eyes how unnatural the tracking line had appeared on the monitor. And he felt it himself, the slight uneasiness about their CI. He had gathered that Neal wasn't exactly the guy for camping trip nor enjoyed too many outside activities aside sitting on his terrace or sketching at park. Maybe a joyride on a yacht was the most of what. Neal would do. Yeah, he liked to take occasional walks within his two mile radius, but it seemed picnic at park would be the end of the limit. Neal Caffrey wouldn't go to woods willingly. And he just returned from an island. He was behaving and working extra willingly. It wasn't like him to suddenly sprint out of the city in the middle of a night, no, that wasn't Neal Caffrey they knew.

So Hughes had made an effort to only appear doubtful at first to add to agitated Marshals (who said that Neal was the only con in the room), only to masterfully doubt the whole thing and keep the very annoying Marshals more on their toes. And finally after some more discussing it was now FBI versus Marshals.

It had taken some serious convincing afterwards to make the offending Marshals leave the matters to FBI and not call a nationwide manhunt.

They both, he and Peter, had it resting in their guts, that their favorite CI could be in serious danger, and it didn't slip any of them that Neal might be hurt and unable to move, hence the tracker staying put. They could only pray he was still alive...

Seeing the whole convincing tirade from bullpen wasn't easy. Diana and Jones both liked Neal. Diana more secretly than her fellow.

But that didn't mean Neal deserved to be thought as a criminal. Maybe at first. Diana didn't trust Caffrey at all on his first month. Just like Peter she suspected the deal as some sort of con Neal was pulling on them to find Kate and then run off with the girl.

Peter's thoughts maybe changed a bit sooner than Diana's. She kept watchful eye on the sneaky man and hoped he won't make them regret the whole CI deal. Of course, after a while the guy started to appear quite okay. Maybe her guard went a bit down after that hotel stay. They had talked laying down on a bed, dressed in fluffy white bathrobes. Maybe that was when Diana started to think of Caffrey of someone other than a tool in the bureau's belt. It may have taken a while but Diana thought of Neal as a friend.

He had changed. A lot. After the whole Kate ordeal she felt pretty sympathetic towards the con. It had totally shattered his heart. For a while she wasn't sure Neal will be fine.

The thing with Fowler put Neal into an even worse state. Not that anyone could tell. Caffrey's gotten himself a pretty good emotion armor. But only those who knew could guess that behind that mask of "Caffrey" was a truly broken man who was lost and needed guidance.

And Mozzie's shooting had totally destroyed what little strength Neal had left. The little man was his only friend and oldest friend he could trust with his life.

Diana could only guess how it must hurt to nearly loose his dear friend.

The thought alone made her shiver.

And now Neal was missing. God knows where and according to satellite data the area had some pretty nasty places for someone to get hurt.

"You think he's hurt?" Jones voice brought her out of deep thoughts.

"I hope not." she replied, still doubting the better possibility. The dot hadn't moved in a while and it kept occasionally coming back to life blinking in the same spot. "I hope he's at least safe. Knowing Caffrey's luck I'd say he's at least not running around. Peter would be proud." Diana allowed a slight shadow of humor. But knowing the guy it was both relief and worry. Neal wasn't known to be sitting around calmly when told. So his stationary signal was indeed worrisome.

Jones allowed a vague smile.

Yeah, Neal was known to be on the move, so this kind of staying put gave him slight creeps.

He liked the other man. They had even spent some time talking.

And it wasn't that bad, not at all. Neal was a great guy, if you looked past his criminal past.

He had a wide knowledge of things and he turned out to be a great conversationalist. They could talk easily and despite first time reservations bonded easily.

Jones wasn't even bothered by his whining about stake outs in the van. Because who'd like the endless hours of sitting and dying from boredom. Not that he risked to tell Peter. Neal was the one famous for complaining, not Jones.

But it didn't made him stop liking the man.

And why, it was good to have a friend who had pretty wide view of things. And Neal had a style.

"I really don't like this." Jones said to Diana. She looked back, sharing the same worried look.

"Yeah, me too." Diana said with a sigh.

For a moment there was complete silence. Only sound was from computers.

The other agents were huddled together at one of the desks, seemingly going through some paperwork their superiors had given them.

Most of them didn't know the missing man beyond the paperwork. They lacked the personal knowledge of Neal.

With a sigh Jones turned back to his computer which also had Neal's anklet data pulled up along satellite map of the area.

Diana was digging into all the possible traffic cameras that could've caught Neal on his way.

But he doubt it'll help much. So far no results.

Jones kept digging for all the topographic maps of the area to try to see if there's any geologic reason for Neal's lack of movement.

It occurred to him there could be a cave where the man could be hiding from whatever danger. Or maybe some steep downfall where he could've toppled down. Maybe some hole in the ground, hidden from naked eye, and Neal had stumbled into and stayed, not able to climb out.

He did all to not think of possible injuries. And mixed with all other possibilities it came out pretty dark thoughts to encounter. But they had to be ready. Anything was possible and so far they were let alone to try and find. They were given twenty-four hours to find Neal. After that Missing Persons will take over to start their own investigation.

Jones hoped it won't get that far and that anklet was still attached to his leg the way Peter put it on after last undercover job.

It was what kept him sane.

Clinton believed they'll find their consultant just like they nailed his location after he fled for Cape Verde.

They had found the island by the bell sounds heard over the phone. It had been real breakthrough and despite all the manhunt and bullet wound in the leg things had ended okay. Neal was back and higher ups convinced it was to help catching other badass. So they reinstated Neal and his old deal was back. Of course they had been looking at Peter with great suspicion but somehow things smoothed out after some unpleasant poking and prodding. So Neal had finally behaved, partially because of his inability to move around much but partially because he was bearing great respect for Peter and had promised not only him but El too to be a good boy and not cause trouble.

And he kept his promises. Jones was really proud.

Only now it will all get some more poking and prodding. This time with more suspicion.

He just prayed for things to get back to normal, as much as it could be with one sneaky ex-con trotting around and giving everyone his megawatt smiles.

Now that he was back to full mobility his eyes had regained the old sparkle and his step the old bounce.

And Clinton had asked, often enough, how Neal was feeling. He could see that behind all the smiles and shrugs and nonchalant deflection hid something else; a deeper feeling, something Neal made effort to keep hidden and not talk about.

Well, maybe some day...

It happened suddenly, unexpectedly. The dot on their computers, that previously just blinked undecidedly on the map, had begun wild beeping and blinking with more urgency.

Whether it was GPS satellite or just some circuit within the anklet's mechanism, but it had gotten more stable. Maybe Neal himself had poked it back to life, or some connection suddenly got through to some electronical clutter but it was a good thing.

Map was now showing his location properly and before anyone had been able to make out a beep, Peter was already ordering the search party on the way.

Jones and Diana shared a knowing smile, before they rushed to the elevator, they knew. Their gut was telling all the good things and both trusted it fiercely. Because no other option would be allowed to cross their mind.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the distant rumble of thunder that brought him back to the land of living. He jolted up, but sank back down on the ground with equal speed, added some inhuman sound (that nondescript mix between a yelp, whine, cry, sigh and choked gasp). Despite being barely awake yet Neal's surprise hearing his own voice making such sounds surprised him nonetheless.

God, he sounded awful, Neal almost shook his head, but refrained in the last moment, apparently his brain hadn't yet lost all the operating functions.

Another rumble made itself noticed. The young man almost yelped like a kicked puppy. Being caught in a thunderstorm in the middle of woods didn't call for a party. Actually it wasn't fun anywhere. Even on a street thunderstorms didn't offer comfort, especially when a person was hurt and couldn't get inside.

So it definitely wasn't fun to be around a thunderstorm, no matter where one was situated.

But there was still sun shining. So probably he hadn't slept for too long. At least Neal hoped. He'd totally lost the track of time.

With his fine hand he reached to ruffle the unruly mop of dark brown, curly hair as his eyes travelled over to his left ankle, where usually offending, but currently hopeful, device was still attached. To his utter surprise the thing was rapidly and pretty strongly blinking red. He nearly passed out from pure relief.

It was a good thing. It meant Peter was coming. He's gonna be rescued.

It meant cavalry was on the way.

For a moment Neal completely ignored his swimming vision and black spots dancing around his line of sight. He just couldn't believe Candy's youngest sister Alice (and if you asked he'd ever deny nicknaming his anklets, because it never was a good thing to become a laughing object at the office about such silly thing, but he just couldn't resist nickname the thing he spent more time with than his fancy suits, and Alice was just appropriate choice considering the "wonder" of his old deal being reinstated) was still alive. It had been silent for a long enough time Neal decided it was all, but there it was, blinking happily with what sounded a weakened giggles. Okay, maybe he was hallucinating already but the sound was definitely there, whatever it resembled more.

So it meant his chances weren't yet so doomed and that hopefully before storm arrives his saviors would come to spring him from this place.

"Oh, Peter, you just have to be on the way. Oh god, please let him be. Peter I need you." Neal spoke out loud, more a whisper than anything else. He really hoped. Refused to accept otherwise. Because otherwise meant he was totally doomed and might not pull out of it alive.

No, he wasn't a pessimist, he just knew enough to tell what damage cannot be undone once the certain limits got over exceeded. And he happened to be aware of his condition.

If he kept passing out the way he's been all this time at some point he might not wake . And adding the amount of pain his chances to survive long term stay, especially in bad weather, made it all look more glum.

He wouldn't be able to pull through. For now he'd managed to somewhat dull the agony from his injuries, but by this rate he doubt his concussion will let it happen few more days. And there was still an infection risks and internal bleeding risks. Neal was no doctor but appropriate read in his free time and some out-of-curiousity research had provided enough insight to know when things were beyond the "cowboying up".

And there was nothing he could right now. He felt weak, exhaustion was starting to make it even harder to pull together a string of coherent thoughts. And the waves of dizziness were making his nausea threaten to form even more offending form.

It wasn't good.

Being in woods sucked on better days, and even more in times like this.

Had been Peter there Neal would started his usual whining and complaining about all possible spider, snake, bear and even wolf attacks. He'd whine about how much his butt hated the hard ground, how silly it was to not think about extra blankets in case of bad camping spot. He'd complain about Peter's idea of not warning him before which had resulted in bad choice of footwear, because the great Neal Caffrey never did camping trips.

But that'd be a good day. One where they find a cabin, equipped enough for decent stay. And they'd have a nice fireplace, decent coffee and dinner out of a can.

But it would be a nice time spent together. Peter was Neal's friend, best friend even. And El too. He enjoyed El's presence.

She had liked him from the very start. And he wasn't even trying to con her. Just a chat, with another human being, without any hidden agendas. Genuinely enjoyed conversation. He immediately liked Peter's wife.

It was something he had never told anyone. And he will never tell either.

He missed honest human contact in prison. Yes, he get to see Kate, but that was it, just a vision, no way to make it physically proved. And he needed physical contact to be sure he's not imagining things. But sometimes it just felt like it was all a dream. That none of it was real.

Neal felt lost after Kate told him off. Like a part of him was cut out. But it wasn't in his nature to display weaknesses. He escaped instead.

Only for Peter to bring him back.

He put up the idea of making deal with the FBI.

He got out.

Neal wasn't entirely sure when it stopped being a con. He couldn't tell when it turned into something else, something more. Partnership. Friendship.

All he knew was that he was there for Peter, and Peter for him.

He truly cared for the agent, and worried when something happened.

He often jumped to things just to make sure El gets her husband back home in one piece. He would never want to El get upset so he tried to keep Peter out of trouble as much as it was in his power. Which was not too much. Peter was FBI agent and it was always possible to get into some shady business and that made it rather hard to avoid danger. So it was mostly Neal who got trouble following, because he was a natural trouble magnet.

He knew Peter would be mad if found out some tiny way it was himself that called trouble upon to save his friend and partner from more stuff.

And it was partially because Neal didn't possess any chance without Peter and his strong hand guiding (to say it at least halfway poetical).

Truth to be told, Neal was an asset. A tool in bureau's belt. And he couldn't exist there without a handler, Peter.

Maybe it started as a con, but eventually Neal had looked at it from other angle and seen the good in it. He'd seen the whole new world, one without a need to run constantly, to hide, to lie, to pretend. In this world he was something good. He had friends and family, people who cared for him the way he dared not to ask for. People who were ready to go great lengths to protect him, to make sure he was safe. And feel loved.

The next rumble, much closer and more threatening sounding, didn't ever registered in Neal's brain. He was deep in thoughts. His mind wandering between places darker than the ocean deep, sometimes brighter than the blinding sun in his face.

He missed Peter. His gruff voice telling him to "cowboy up" because what was a bit of green to do other than clear his city-infested lungs with fresh forest air. Peter's strong arms to hold him while pain spiked through his sore body and offer comfort that would all seem safe again.

He hadn't neither...

His blue eyes trailed back to Alice, the still transmitting anklet, and he felt the lone tear slide down his mud covered, bruised cheek. "I don't want to die. Please don't let me die here." Was his weak whisper against a rumbling thunder...


	9. Chapter 9

_**I'll find you somewhere  
I'll keep on trying  
Until my dying day  
I just need to know  
Whatever has happened  
The truth will free my soul**_

They could all hear it, see it and feel it. A mixture of tangled emotions.

The bleeps of GPS signal the only thing keeping them sane and controlled.

There was a storm coming. Weather reports said nothing good was promised. It wasn't coming fast, one good thing. The bad thing was that it accumulated more energy on the way therefore promising bigger deal upon arrival. That was the bad news.

There were reports already from various places that warned of tornado-like wind and extreme rain accompanied by golf ball sized hail.

They couldn't deny worry for Caffrey much longer.

"Boss?" Diana first split the dreadful silence as their van moved hastily towards the location.

"Yes, Diana." Peter replied.

"You think he's okay?" The words came out feeling weird on her tongue.

"Honest? I really don't know. I hope so. The fact that signal hasn't moved an inch worries me." He admitted what everyone else, Hughes including, was worrying over, knowing Neal. The young man was never sitting calm. He was always on the move and easily got bored. The guy was challenging, even before the deal was up.

Only thing they wondered about was how Neal could survive prison, if even a simple stake out night in the van caused sea of complaints.

Peter had actually done some follow up on Neal, while he was imprisoned. But not overly long. Maybe he should've had. However, Neal wasn't his only case and soon bigger fishes had started to take his time and patience, crime never slept, and so long only birthday cards reminded of the imprisoned con man. Well, he did few inquiries, if nothing else, than to make sure the man was still wearing orange and in the same place.

Up until he wasn't.

Peter still felt guilty for getting Kramer involved, but he couldn't know that the man he thought he knew and had learned from was so different from the one who basically had ordered Neal to become his personal slave for an eternity (at least Peter had put it that way in his mind). And finding his friend on that island, if only just shortly, had felt like biggest joy in the world, right after marrying El.

Up until Collins raided his house and found poorly hidden map with a bright red circle over Cape Verde.

After that things had gotten a bit crazy.

At least they got their friend back in one piece.

There had also been Keller, before. Peter could remember his anger at Neal for getting El kidnapped. Of course, not Neal's fault entirely, Keller had the biggest. And maybe- no, not maybe- it was a big part of Mozzie's fault. Because he'd taken the Nazi loot.

Oh how mad he'd been at them, both, and Keller too.

But together they got it done, El was okay and Keller behind bars.

But not without some ugly bruises.

He couldn't (have had) helped himself to drop the anger upon seeing the hated criminal about to land another blow to Neal, already on the ground. Peter couldn't deny the pang of emotion that half second before he rammed himself into Keller and fought him. However it was Neal who ended the fight by miraculously shooting his enemy in the leg, through Peter's pant leg (he still couldn't shake the weirdness of Neal's gun handling skills all the while the man possessed strong hatred towards the offending weapons).

And after that, the next day, Neal had been so ready to give himself in. It proved something.

Neal (have) had changed.

"Boss, you okay?" Diana's voice brought the reality back and he smiled.

"Yes, Diana. Just thought about something." He replied.

"Okay." She nodded. "We're almost there. Ten more minutes." The woman informed with a hint of slight relief in her voice. It was understandable, they all wanted to get out and search for Neal.


	10. Chapter 10

The wood was all calm. Previously chirping birds had all nestled wherever their nests lay. The was still beaming brightly, as if nothing was happening. The occasional gusts of wind was swaying the lower growing grass and leaves of bigger trees. Pine trees were standing tall and proud, overlooking their folks.

Everything seemed fine aside the threatening rumble from afar. Everyone knew what that meant. Squirrels quickly gathered their stock to hole in the old oak tree. There was a lean pine that still possessed scones. And only a lone woodpecker tried to drill a hole in it's trunk despite everything.

It was warm so ducks didn't hurry to enjoy a pond near the small cliff that separated wood from the interstate road. It wasn't too high, only about 16 feet.

A curious deer was sniffing around the wealthier greens.

Suddenly the youngster stopped dead in it's track. Behind the bush that held some juicy berries lay a figure. The creature knew a human form from the nearby horse farm and often visited for extra snack.

So he knew humans were also harmless and could offer some kindness. But this deer fowl had found other kind of human. Injured human.

The animal had seen few, from road accidents. Those humans were all bloody and often got stuck into black, crackling plastic bags and stuffed into big trucks. Sometimes a flashing red and blue lights came after them and rolled out flat boards. They looked nicer than the other kind.

But the little thing saw nothing of a kind around. Everything was calm despite the upcoming storm.

So this human was there all along, the deer wondered in its mind that held more than humans gave credit for.

The deer cautiously you could never know- stepped closer. And observed.

Human on the ground was breathing, his eyes closed and chest slowly rose and fell, he had blood on the head and other places. Clothes torn and dirty. Face too.

The animal wondered whether this one too had fallen from the cliff. At least it looked that way.

The tree he was underneath swayed slightly more.

And suddenly the air turned a bit more dreadful, pre-storm warning mostly only animals sensed, but sometimes humans too.

Except this human. The deer looked back at the dark haired young man. To the woods creature he looked sad, and lonely.

And the deer knew it won't be good for human to be this way when the storm comes. So it gathered the courage only youth sported and poked the small nose at man's face. Unfortunately it caused no reaction, even after several tries.

Not good, the deer decided and sighed.

It took another thoughtful moment before another sound reached the "Bambi's" ears. Another type of rumbling and voices nearby. Maybe they finally decided to collect their human, the little one thought hopeful.

So he listened. And listened.

Voices were further ahead and out of direct sight, they were at least six people and there was a strange beeping. Suddenly the similar sounding noise was coming from the still sleeping human. The deer startled a bit before taking another sniff and earful. The much weaker noise came from the man's leg, animal noticed and poked the guilty leg. There was something around the man's leg ending and it was alive, and calling. For help maybe?

"Bambi" sneezed suddenly. Maybe the weird thing was calling for help because the human couldn't.

He listened for voices again. Few moved sideways but those with the beeping thing stood and discussed something.

If the deer had been human he'd started screaming and would've just pulled them over already. Sometimes humans were so silly.

And that's why the clever animal made decision to intervene. The storm felt bad, according to all vibes the whole forest received, and humans haven't done anything bad to him to wish them death, so it was help them instead, and maybe they won't hurt his family the other day.

It was possibly the strangest and at the same time best thing Peter had experienced, in the line of saving somebody.

They were just standing there, within the clutter of young pines, trying to decipher the right direction and sending cops to investigate a possible way back to road that didn't require climbing (because Peter doubted their ability to make the way back if Neal was in a worse state than just some bruises), when all of a sudden there was a young deer standing feet away from them and staring intently at them. At first they'd thought the thing was lost or something. But then Peter noticed the determination (and he swore to never talk about it with anyone) in the animal's eyes and stance.

Who'd thought non-humans could express so much with such limited ways.

It had stood there for a moment, staring fiercely, before turning around and skipping forward several feet. When nobody moved, it jumped once and moved back towards them. Diana suggested to watch a bit more. And they did so.

But the little thing repeated the motion twice more before Peter broke the spell and moved after the amazingly brave deer. He followed it with a quite an amount of doubt, his team hot on his heels, when they appeared in a more breathy space besides a small height cliff. That was where his, and not only, jaw fell to the ground with an impressive, resounding thud.

They all took a collective inhale and relieved sigh.

They'd found Neal Caffrey.

And in the most strangest way.

A damned deer had led them to their missing man and if that wasn't enough it even poked Neal's face with it's tiny nose.

Oh how El will be excited to hear about. And Neal would probably gloat about that.

That thought alone kicked a sudden laugh out of the older agent. Which was enough to draw a collective laughing fit from his companions.

The cops returned with a team of EMTs (Jones turned out to be faster than his boss by calling it in the second he recognized Neal and before they all erupted into a laughing fit). For their surprise the man in question was indeed where his anklet was and to add that there was also a deer and his FBI colleagues having a laughing fit.

Fortunately medics were faster to react and quickly gathered around the obviously injured man, even the animal in question stepped aside. But for their surprise not completely away.

"Only Neal, only Neal..." Peter thought to himself, while still laughing at the hilariousity of the situation, and watching the medics tending to his partner.

**_Wherever you are  
I won't stop searching  
Whatever it takes me to know_**

**The End**


End file.
